Five for Forever (33 page)

“What can I do?”

“Sit here beside him, hold his hand. I’ll call his family; maybe one parent can come back.”

“Should I call you or the nurse?”

“When you feel like it. But we will be around, don’t worry.”

The nurse came in a few minutes later and gave Marc another injection, which Louise felt didn’t help him much. Part of his body still jerked, and the tiny hands often pressed Louise’s fingers. They were hot to the touch, the fever fighting a losing battle with the cancer inside the boy. Sounds of singing came from the playroom.

After an hour, Dr. Singh was back. He shook his head. “Neither of the parents want to come alone and face this. They feel that they only have the strength together, but they can’t leave the kids alone.”

“Where do they live?”

“You want to volunteer to babysit? I wouldn’t let you go, Ms. Waters,” Singh said.

“You think too small, Doctor. I am filthy rich. Where do they live?”

“Annapolis Junction. About an hour away,” Singh said.

“Would you let me talk to the family? I might have a solution.”

Singh hesitated a second, then glanced at Marc and nodded. “Follow me, Ms. Waters.”

The next three hours Louise sat again beside the young boy, who shortly after midnight stopped jerking, his breathing becoming softer. Dr. Singh and the nurse did some checks, adjusted the pain meds, and otherwise left them alone. The children’s cancer wing had become quiet; even the visiting parents were gone or asleep. Then at about one o’clock, the door to Marc’s room opened, and a thickset and tired-looking pair arrived. Louise got up and briefly hugged Marc’s mother, both of them crying. She shook hands with Marc’s father, who didn’t say much. “Thank you for taking my offer,” Louise said. “I think your son should be with you in this hour.”

“Mrs. Waters . . . Louise, we have been on this journey now for two years; we wish for Marc that his suffering could be over. Whatever happens, we will leave at six o’clock to be home when the other kids wake up at around seven,” the mother explained.

“Floris get settled all right?”

“Yes, he seems to be a gentle man, despite his size and profession.”

“He is. Your kids and house are in good hands. I’ll leave you with Marc.”

“Won’t you stay and pray with us?”

“I . . .” Louise was taken aback. “I don’t pray. I’m not very religious.”
Especially not after this night.

“But you can stay, surely, give us and Marc strength . . .” the mother said and Louise nodded.

Marc’s parents repeated long prayers they seemed to have memorized. Louise listened to the eventually meaningless words. Nothing would bring this boy back, and all that would be left were the memories of his loved ones and some pictures. The concept of an afterlife was far away for Louise, and its purpose unclear to her. If there was an afterlife, what was the meaning? And why was it without exception a one-way street? You were never able to contact the ones who loved you in your real life again.

At around five o’clock in the morning, Marc died quietly in the arms of his mother and father without ever having regained consciousness, with Louise, Dr. Singh, and the nurse in the room. He simply stopped breathing, and his heart ceased beating a minute later. Louise cried silently while the family said their farewells and then quickly left. Louise was alone with Marc and Dr. Singh again.

“Any financial troubles for the parents?” Louise asked. “Anything I can do?”

“They’re well insured, but thanks for thinking about it. Learn anything tonight?” Singh asked her, patting her shoulder.

“Death is cruel.”

“We don’t know, actually. Death is cruel for those of us who remain on earth. But for the dying? Maybe there is something behind this fabled door of light that when reached is worth dying for. Eternal being, wine, honey, fifty virgins, lunch with Elvis.” He pointed at Marc. “Strawberry ice cream.”

Then he turned to Louise. “I hope this night was worth it to you, because it might cost you your life.”

“What do you mean?”

“It is five o’clock in the morning; your body is weakened after a stressful night, and you have a severe sleep deficit. Your immune system won’t like it.”

“Will you ever let go, for once?”

“Nope. I lost one patient tonight, I don’t intend to lose you a few nights later. Go to bed, Ms. Waters. At eight I will be at your bed with a polished bucket and ten units of our preferred drug.”

Louise got up, taking one last look at the little lifeless body, finally at peace. “To strawberry ice cream, little man!”

twenty-nine

Breaking Hearts, Heard on the Moon

Hal called the day after Christmas. “You won’t believe who I met.”

“I bet I will,” Rick replied, rolling his eyes at Dana, mouthing “
Hal
.”

“Cheryl.”

“Cheryl who?”

Dana giggled, heard by Hal.

“Tell Dana this is not a
knock-knock
joke! Cheryl, your former date.”

“Former sounds about right,” Rick mused. That had been another lifetime ago. “You remember that I only went out with her once?”

“I assume with Louise freshly gone and the news about her sickness, you are not interested in a rebound with Cheryl? Because she mentioned you when we talked.”

“Definitely not, give me a break, please.”

“You got it. Probably not in the situation to impress the ladies anyway, now that we are officially broke,” Hal said.

”Well, also the lower classes should be allowed to go out on a date now and then. I will steal Dana’s piggy bank and hope that my next future date has a modest taste in wine. How do you fill your ample spare time?”

“I got a killer tan over Christmas, picked up surfing again, and I read the complete Ed McBain back catalogue.”

The bantered a minute more, discussed some details about the upcoming New Year’s Eve party they had planned to close business and then disconnected.

Dana looked at her Dad, crossing her arms. “I’m not giving you my piggy bank.”

“Of course not; that was a joke.”

“I need the money to buy a company.”

“Why would you need a company?”

“So that I could give you work,” she said with a serious face.

“That is very kind of you.”

“You will build the boats for my company.”

“I like that, Dana. Thank you.”

“And I will give Louise work, too.”

“Uh-oh, I don’t like that.”

“Dad, it’s my company. I’m the boss.”

“Go girl,” Britta chimed in from the couch.

“What would Louise do?” Rick asked.

Dana had to think about that. Britta commented: “We definitely can’t use her in the cafeteria.”

Dana turned to her sister. “She will answer the phone.”

Britta held her thumbs up, Rick groaned.

Izzy came visiting two days after Christmas. Louise had had a bad spell with side effects the previous day and wasn’t able to get out of bed.

“You look like shit, honey!” Izzy declared and hugged his client.

“One of the few times in my life where interior and exterior match 100 percent,” Louise said weakly. “Can I offer you some food?” She wiggled the nutrition and fluid packages swinging over her head.

“You know, when you get out of this alive, you should make a comedy out of this experience.” Izzy looked around.

“I could open a YouTube channel and do it right away. I’d have five million viewers and could pledge for cancer research with every post.” Louise coughed.

“Didn’t you tell me this new medication is better than chemotherapy?”

“I was misinformed,” Louise quoted
Casablanca,
and both shared a laugh. They chatted for a while about how different Christmas had been for them, people they knew, the latest business and relationship rumors, everything but the disease. Izzy sensed that Louise didn’t want to talk about her time in the hospital and needed distraction.

When they ran out of topics, they sat silently for a few minutes. Arielle had fetched them two Starbucks; Izzy greedily jumped at his latte and Louise sipped silently at her green tea, feeling the warm fluid. She glanced at her metal bucket nearby, in case the tea wouldn’t stay down.

“Madge Hardy sends her regards, I ran into her at Spago the day before Christmas. We almost killed each other with our steak knives but then remembered ’tis the season of love.”

“Do you think I can approach her?”

“Business?”

“Yup.”

“Uh-oh, do I hear the great makeup coming? Well, why not? You guys are not best buddies, but you are both in the industry. I think I still have that steak knife somewhere,” Izzy joked. “Putting things in order, making amends?”

“Something of that sort,” Louise remained vague.

“By the way, bringing your affairs in order. You have your bucket list crossed off?”

Louise fell back into her cushion. “That is the worst part. I am not even close.”

“I can arrange for a tandem jump with one of my ex-girlfriends,” Izzy offered. “Nothing beats a free fall with someone you broke up with a few years earlier. You run through everything you might have said or done to her in your head to check whether she might still hold a grudge and unbuckle you in midflight.”

“Yeah, and we need a skydiving nurse holding the fluid packs. And the heart rate monitor flying along.”

“I’ll gift you an fitness watch for that. No, honey, seriously. What do you think you have missed?”

“Up on top: no kids and no husband. Not even a partner. Someone who sits by my side, loves me unconditionally, holds my hand.”

“I am sitting here,” Izzy said. “We could marry!”

Louise laughed. “You know what I mean. Despite all my successes and being a household name, I am still alone. And look at relationships in our industries—most of them resemble royal marriages from the Renaissance to optimize power plays and exposure. As quickly as you fall in love, you get divorced again. It’s all for the opportunity, sell the rights to the wedding photos, and have the paparazzi getting the first shots of the baby.“

“And you thought you were closing in on that with Rick and his kids.”

“Iz! I was there. I held my life’s goal for a minute. And I screwed up. Because I did not believe in it myself. Because I did not believe in my future in that family. Back to square one.” Louise looked up and down herself, and tugged the fluid bag drip line. “Back to square minus one.”

“I still think you should work through this in a creative way. Write a book, a script, anything to give your experience a form and an outlet.”

“I’ve never written a creative line in my life. Thank-you cards, yes. But nothing fundamental.”

“You’ve written jokes and comedy skits,” Izzy pointed out.

“Those were jokes and comedy skits.”

“Then write funny books. Janet Evanovich writes funny books. Steal with pride. Adventures of a burned-out acting superstar in the normal world, and bring it over the top.” He spread his arms around the room. “Write the great American cancer comedy!”

Izzy fell silent, and they listened to the muted noises of machines and people in the hallways, comfortable with the silence between them. Louise finished her tea and with practiced aim threw the cup into the wastebasket across the room.

“I watched a kid die on Christmas,” Louise said without preamble.

“Oh dear,” Izzy said and held Louise’s hand again.

“A six-year-old boy. His name was Marc. It was the most horrific experience of my life. I thought that I was helpless with my disease, but watching this lonely kid die, seeing his life being sucked out of him in a few hours was more than I could handle. The parents barely came in time; I had to sent Floris to their house because the siblings would have had no babysitter otherwise.”

“Oh honey!” Izzy held her hand, tears coming into his eyes.

“Imagine if I hadn’t been there. Marc would have died alone, without me there holding him or his parents saying a final farewell. I’ve hardly slept since, and I have no more tears, Iz! If God came down today and asked me, ‘You want to come over?’ I would say yes gladly and have no regrets about it. Screw the bucket list.”

“Don’t give up hope, honey. Concentrate on your own well-being. You can’t be responsible for every soul. That’s God’s task. And maybe that of the doctors.”

“I lost God that night. I’ve never been a great woman of faith, but I’ve been to churches and religious ceremonies, and I’ve prayed now and then. And the belief in a higher being was comforting to the extent that there was something out there after we leave earth. But not anymore. Marc’s death showed me that we are truly alone in this world. We are here and then nowhere else. If there’s one thing that I’ve learned from my sickness, it’s that there is only you and the person in front of you, and that is the only thing that matters.”

New Year’s Eve was like most other days in Southern California: beautiful. The Flint family was planning what to do over the day and especially what else to prepare for the New Year’s party. The last official day of the Flint and Heller Fine Wooden Boats company would go out with a garden party, including barbecue and an open pool for the hard-core surfers. Friends and family would come together to commiserate, drink to better times, and celebrate more than fifteen years of beautiful boats.

The family still occupied the breakfast table when the doorbell rang. Agnes got up to answer it and came back with Josh Hancock in tow. He looked sick, same as a few nights before, but had shaved and had clean clothes on. Dana ran her eyes up and down him. “You sick, Joshjosh?”

“Yeah, little Dana, I am,” Josh said and got on his knees to greet her. “Very sick and very sorry.”

Dana looked at her bowl and pushed it over to Josh. “Fruit is good for you.”

Josh laughed and stifled a sob.

“You want to join us for breakfast? We have some fruit salad without drool left,” Rick greeted him.

“No, thanks. I came to apologize for two weeks ago. And the gate. And leaving the crashed car in your yard.” Josh looked like a wet poodle. “All my possessions have been taken away from me. I am homeless, carless, and moneyless.”